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This is not who I’m supposed to meet. Which makes me all the more panicked. They never mentioned there would be a swap. They never said anything about a retriever. It’s supposed to be a chihuahua with serious anxiety.
Where is he? And how do I get rid of this guy quickly?
“Thank you so much, Dr. Lewis,” Betty says as she stands before the reception desk with her credit card ready.
Woah. When did she get there?
I shake my head as I make my way over to her. “No need, Betty. We can fix it up tomorrow.”
She reaches for one of my hands and squeezes my fingers tightly. “Thank you, dear. You are a precious angel. Your mother would be so proud of how you have continued her legacy.”
Despair expands in my chest like a firework. A year ago, I would have taken the compliment. Now it just makes my stomach churn.
Betty waves goodbye as she exits through the glass doors. My gut tells me SpongeBob will last a couple more days, maybe weeks. But I secretly hope he passes in his sleep. Betty won’t have to make any decisions regarding his life, and she’ll be comforted to know he left this earth in his favorite place: by her bedside.
A sigh pours from my chest, taking with it a little of my sadness. Despite the nature of the job, death is a constant presence, and it always finds a way to affect me, big and small.
It files away along with every other sad thing I’ve witnessed, and I transition with rusty wheels onto the next issue. Wiping my sweaty hands on my uniform, I lift my head in the direction of the man still waiting in the corner.
He’s turned to face me, and goddamnit, he’s even more attractive than I could have conjured. He’s got a slight layer of stubble spread acrossa strong jaw. A wave of thick hair on his crown, shaved thin on the sides—ashy brown with lighter streaks that blend nicely with his creamy complexion. Broad shoulders, athletic build and a killer sense of style.
Rich and handsome. Nice.
Unfortunately, I can’t deduce his eye color because of the sunglasses fixed to his face. Though, why he’s wearing them inside on a rainy day beats me.
Maybe they’re prescriptions?
I squash the teenage butterflies springing to life in my stomach and refocus. I have to get rid of him quickly before the vet nurse returns from her break and wonders why I’m handing over a car trunk’s worth of drugs to a man with a tiny chihuahua.
“My name is Dr. Lewis. How may I help you?” I look down at the golden retriever. “More specifically, how can I help her?”
“She’s not mine,” he says. It’s difficult not to be affected by the honeyed timbre of his voice. But I manage easily enough. Maybe I am an angel, after all.
“Oh, did you find her?”
“You could say that.”
Okay. Not really the answer I was looking for. But being aloof seems to fit his mysterious criteria.
I come out from behind the reception desk and make my way over to the dog. I’m glad this wasn’t any kind of emergency. Lost dogs are an easy fix. “Well, thank you for doing the right thing and bringing her to a vet. I can take it from here. I’ll take her out the back and check for any injuries, plus I can find her owner if she has a tag.”
The man pulls away as I reach for her lead. “I’d like to wait.”
My brows furrow. “Excuse me?”
“I’d like to wait.” I continue to stare at him. “I’d like to speak to the owner,” he clarifies.
“I can take a message. I’m sure you have other things to attend to.”
“I don’t.” He looks at me, or at least, I think he does, and I suddenly feel small. Minuscule. Like a speck of sand on a highway.
My gaze flicks to the clock on the wall behind him. “Are you sure?” I ask again. I really, really need you to leave.
“Deadly.” The way he says that one word raises the tiny hairs along my arms.
I straighten. “That’s fine. Can I look her over while we wait?”
“Please do.” He hands me the reins and the beautiful dog comes to me. “Her name is Juniper.”
